


Claimed

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin saves Arthur yet again, just not in the usual manner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claimed

The first morning, Arthur was even more of a bear than usual, grouching from the moment Merlin woke him and picking at his breakfast. Merlin, being accustomed to a bitchy but not totally savage prince first thing in the morning, asked with tender concern, "What crawled up your arse and died, sire?"

Arthur gave him the evil eye and continued to tear his toast into bits. "If you must know," he said, "I didn't sleep very well last night."

"Somebody sneak a pea under your mattress?"

Arthur glanced at the bed and, for some reason, blushed. "Strange dreams," he muttered. "Now get me my armor."

-\\--\\--\\-

The second morning, Arthur's temper was downright evil, and Merlin counted himself lucky to have escaped with his skin intact. The third morning Arthur didn't even speak, but his bloodshot glare was foul enough that Merlin was surprised the draperies didn't catch fire.

The fourth day, Arthur slept through nearly an hour of Merlin trying to wake him, and the skin under his eyes was beginning to look bruised. The fifth day, he fell asleep which hearing audiences with the king. The sixth day he staggered to his knees in the middle of a drill, and Merlin could only crouch helplessly as his shoulder while Arthur gasped and Sir Cleos apologized over and over for the blow he hadn't actually landed.

The seventh day, when Merlin came with breakfast, he found Arthur laying on his face, legs bent under him and nightshirt rucked up in an obscenely obvious pose. This time nothing could wake him, not even Merlin rolling him over and pulling up the blankets to provide at least a little dignity. Not even Gaius, who muttered "Magic," or the king, who raged and blustered and stroked Arthur's face and hands, but only when he thought no one was looking.

Merlin hit the books and nearly slept through the eighth morning, but Gaius woke him to report that the prince was barely breathing and someone had disturbed the bedding during the night. Merlin helped administer the usual round of tinctures and potions, which brought no color to Arthur's translucent skin, and when they were back in Gaius's quarters he ventured to ask, "What do you know about incubuses?"

"Incubi," Gaius corrected. "They're spirits of the animal nature that prey on women, particularly young ones. They seduce their victim in her dreams and slowly leech away her life's essence."

Merlin frowned. "And they never attack a man?"

"Not most men," Gaius said, and then frowned, and looked at Merlin carefully.

Because Arthur had only ever really fancied one woman, and she'd had to put a spell on him first.

"I, um, yeah," Merlin said. "I think I'll sit with the prince tonight. Don't...don't wait up."

-\\--\\--\\-

By nightfall Merlin had assembled in Arthur's room all his incubus-killing supplies, to wit: a sword, a torch, a bell, enough salt to buy most of Ealdor and all the flammable substances he could find. He was confident he'd either destroy the demon or burn the castle down, and either way, problem solved.

He carefully studied the spells he'd need to break it, bind it and drive it off, but took a break every now and then to watch the prince's still, pale body. It didn't seem that Arthur was wasting away so much as evaporating, or fading out. Even his hair was losing its shine, and Merlin had to stop himself from checking every minute that yes, he was still breathing, heart still beating, life still burning somewhere down inside.

He really kind of hated this part of the saving process. Monsters were so much easier.

Near midnight, though, Arthur suddenly stirred, and Merlin let his spellbook fall to the floor. Arthur's eyes didn't so much as flicker, but his head tossed weakly from side to side, almost as if he were shaking it no, even while his hips, still under the sheets, twitched upwards. Merlin seized the bag of salt and closed the circle he'd spread on the floor the night before, a circle big enough to encompass most of the room; then, before Arthur's breathing could get any more strained, Merlin stretched out his hand and said sharply, "Ecce vulto monstri!"

Arthur's body went still again, and at the foot of the bed a column of smoke bloomed from the air and became solid. The illustration in Gaius's monster book had shown the incubus as a hairless, muscular male figure that turned to mist below the waist; it had failed to note the thing's fanged mouth, its slit-pupiled eyes, or its faintly bluish skin, and Merlin also noticed that its torso stayed solid well below the waist, right down to a certain appendage that looked more like a writhing snake than anything on human anatomy.

"Warlock," the incubus said. "Why have you interrupted us?"

The books didn't say anything about it talking, either, and Merlin's next incantation got caught up on his tongue. "I...you...this has got to stop," he stammered.

"Really?" the incubus said. "Why is that?"

"You're killing him!" Merlin blurted, pointing at Arthur.

The incubus shrugged. "He'll die happy."

Merlin took a deep breath. "I'm not going to let you harm him anymore," he said, and tried to smoothly reach for the bell, which was the first part of the binding ritual. He knocked it on the floor under the bed instead.

The incubus smiled, which was a disturbing sight. "Really? You intend to stake a claim on him, then?"

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked, mostly to give himself a chance to fish the bell back out with his foot.

"A claim, warlock," the incubus repeated. It still sounded amused. "If this mortal belongs to you, then I'll gladly step aside and leave him."

Merlin wasn't certain that Arthur belonged to anybody, but the bell was not coming out without a fight and if there was a way to end this without explosions and fire... "Well, as it happens, he does," Merlin said. "Belong to me, I mean. We've, er, we go way back together. I claim him, my prince, shove off now."

The incubus's horrible smile widened. "Prove it."

Merlin panicked. "How d'you expect me to do that?" he said, in what was probably an un-warlock-like shriek.

"Demonstrate," the incubus said slowly, and Merlin thought for a moment he was going to fall down dead right then and there. He looked at Arthur, too pale and too still, and of course he couldn't do that, not after the incubus had already...but then again, if it was going to get the thing to leave...

Sorry about this, he thought, and then he knelt down and kissed Arthur's cool, still lips. Somewhere between the little pecks his mum gave him and his least successful attempt at snogging--more than a quick press, but his lips stayed together so he'd still be able to look Arthur in the eye come morning.

Arthur didn't react. The incubus, behind Merlin's back, snorted.

So maybe Merlin wasn't the best kisser in Albion. He was definitely good enough for this. He opened his mouth a little, nuzzling Arthur's lower lip before sucking on it gently, then darted his tongue out to lick at the thin opening to Arthur's mouth. He had to hold Arthur's head up with both hands, cradling his face carefully, feeling that worryingly coolness of his skin--

And then Arthur's mouth fell open. He took the first deep breath Merlin had heard him take in days and let it out with a contented sigh. Merlin, for his part, nearly fell off the bed.

"You call that a claim?" the incubus scoffed.

Merlin didn't know what to call it, whether Arthur was just reacting blindly to the sensation of being kissed or if he somehow knew who was with him. But just seeing Arthur move and breathe again--he stroked his hand down Arthur's chest, under the blankets but over his nightshirt, and Arthur made a happy noise and arched up into the touch as much as his weakened body allowed. His mouth hung open, practically demanding Merlin kiss it again, and again, and again, until Merlin started feeling a bit breathless himself and two small spots of color appeared in Arthur's cheeks.

He placed a hand on Arthur's chest, rubbed a small circle with the flat of his palm just feel Arthur's heartbeat and the deep breaths that filled his lungs. Arthur sort of hummed down in his throat, and he reached up with one hand to loosely grip Merlin's and twine their fingers together. Merlin realized that Arthur finally felt warm again.

The incubus huffed. "So it is. Well, my apologies, warlock, if I've damaged your property."

Merlin doesn't think Arthur would like being called anyone's property, even though right now--between Sophia and the incubus--it seems like a pretty good idea to stamp PROPERTY OF MERLIN OF EALDOR on Arthur's forehead, just to head off any other misunderstandings. Maybe he could have Gwen sew it onto a tunic. "Leave," he told the incubus, and with a flick of magic he opened the salt circle and let it evaporate into mist.

A moment later Arthur's eyes fluttered open, still bloodshot and fogged with exhaustion. His hand tightened around Arthur's. "Merlin?" he asked blearily, though it came out more like Mrrrn?

"Right here," Merlin answered, thinking maybe this is the point when he ought to pull away, if he still wanted to be able to meet Arthur's eyes in the morning.

But Arthur just squeezed his hand a bit longer and mumbled something that might've been "Nice dream." His eyes slipped shut again, and his breathing became even and deep, like a man having proper sleep. When Merlin did try to pull back, Arthur clutched tighter, and, well, how was Merlin supposed to say no to that? Besides, Gaius wasn't expecting him back until morning.

A flick of his fingers sent the broom and the dustpan sweeping up the salt, and Merlin toed off his boots before settling on the bed next to Arthur, hand still over his heart. Arthur turned his head to face Merlin's, just inches away--their noses were practically brushing--and in the morning, the first thing Merlin saw when he woke was Arthur's bleary blue eyes, confused but not unhappy, staring into his own.

"Merlin?" he asked, blinking slowly.

"Yeah," Merlin said, feeling his face flush. "You all right?"

Arthur's brows knit for a moment. "Strange dreams," he mumbled, but one side of his mouth lifted in a smile before he fell back into a doze. He never let go of Merlin's hand.


End file.
